


Cataclysm

by PashN



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Breach Still in the Sky, Can It Get Any Worse?, F/M, Hunted Down by the Chantry, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PashN/pseuds/PashN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Mark fails to contain the Breach at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the authorities scheme to use her as a scapegoat in the aftermath of the Divine's death, Lavellan decides it is time to escape captivity and leave Haven. Apparently, Solas plans to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Runaway

It hadn't worked.

She'd put her might – her entire mana – into the the Mark and even that hadn't been enough. All it'd done had been triggering an explosion blasting them back. She'd hit her head against the rough wall of the temple and passed out.

She woke up half a day later to discover that the Breach was still in the sky, growing, at a consideribly slow pace, but expanding none the less. It was a relief that the Mark on her hand wasn't following suit. A relief that was short lived.

When she tried to leave the hut, the guard at the door told her to refrain from leaving because it was dangerous. That was when she realised she was imprisoned, like the last time she'd awakened. The difference now was that she was in a room and not a cell. It had been at Cassandra's behest, but even the Seeker hadn't managed to stop the Chantry opposition, their demand that the prisoner be trialed and executed. They'd already sent word to Val Rayeaux, Lavellan heard the servants whisper. She'd been trained all her life to be a Keeper, to preserve. Might as well start with herself.

Silently, Isena looks out the small window of the cabin. The sun is going down. It's time.

She kills the hearthfire, then goes back to the desk and pretends to read the copy of  _The Chant of Light_  left atop it. The irony is not lost upon her.

_Maker, my enemies are abundant._  
_Many are those who rise up against me..._

The door creaks open and she doesn't look up to see it's the usual guard, bringing her ration. He notices the fire is dead and asks why she hasn't yet rekindled it. She simply tells him she's used to the cold, living all her life out in the open. Not exactly a lie.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._

Isena feels the guard's gaze linger on her, heavy with melancholy and pity, thinking she's asking repentence in these dark final hours of her life...

She'll have better luck asking aid from Fen'Harel. She snorts softly, then proceeds to turn the page, appearing ever devote.

The guard leaves the room, locking the door behind him, and it is only then that she drops her charade, slamming the book shut.

Wasting no time, she moves to the tray left for her on the floor. The soup she eats, but tucks the loaf of bread into the sack she's been hiding under the bed. Of the three blankets in the room, she puts one into her bag, then quietly creates a makeshift rope of another. It too disappears into her sack.

Then she waits.

For the fourth time in that day, she reviews her plan, her memory of the surrounding areas, the map she used to study on her way to the Frostback Mountains, for so long she could close her eyes and see its inky patterns etched to the back of her eyelids. She was supposed be a spy at the Conclave. Now she's a scapegoat, a liability to be terminated. It changes everything, and nothing at the same time. She wasn't supposed to be welcome here from the very beginning.

She can't go back to her clan; they will easily find her there and she doesn't want to risk the lives of the others. And they would have relocated by now, gone into hiding. That had been the plan if things were to get out of hand. She'll have to rely on herself for a while. The concept is a bit frightening, for she has lived most of her life among the others – their big small family. Laughing, hunting, playing, traveling, mourning, and everything was done together and never alone.

The guards check on her again later at night, during which Lavellan pretends to be sleep. Luckily, Adan is not with them again. He hasn't shown up ever since it became clear her Mark was no longer spreading.

When it is past midnight and Haven is shrouded in darkness, Isena shoulders her bag and approaches the fireplace. The chimney isn't wide – certainly too narrow for a human – but there is more than enough space in there for her lithe frame.

"The Light shall lead her safely, through the paths of this world, and into the next," she wryly recites the Chant, observing the passage. After one last glance at the door, she slithers into the shaft and begins to climb by bracing her back against one side, her hands and feet against the other, pushing herself up.

The cold breeze that passes over her skin as she crawls out onto the rooftop is reassuring, and she takes a few moments to breathe in the fresh mountain air before moving. She isn't free yet.

She gets to the adjacent roof, taking care to keep her head low and body close to the surface, like a predatory animal. Except that here, now, she is the prey. Looking heavenwards, she sends a silent prayer to the gods, particularly Falon'Din, because if she fails, she is going to be dead.

After checking to see that the coast is clear, Lavellan drops to the ground with a soft thud then cautiously advances toward the eastern part of the village, where she knows they've been stacking boxes atop each other. More than once she has to duck into the shadows to evade a lone guard patrolling, scanning the alleyways in the light of a torch. Despite her presence in Haven, inside fortification is low: most of the soldiers have been sent to the forward barricade, closer to the Breach. And luckily, they have no mabari in here, so it is going to take them a while – if not forever – to track her down once she's out of the village walls. She learnt that in a seemingly innocent conversation with a servant changing her old bed sheets with clean ones.

The outline of the boxes becomes visible. Securely set next to the stone wall ahead, beckoning her to come closer, to freedom. Almost there...

"The prisoner's escaped!"

All blood drains from her face, and for several frantic heartbeats, Lavellan thinks she's been discovered, but then a group of soldiers hurry past her hiding place without a glance in her direction. Even seconds after their departure, she's still leaning against the wall, holding her breath from fear of being spotted. How did they find out? They weren't supposed to check on her until morning.

Isena egdes out of the shadows, deciding to solve that particular mystery  _after_  she's out of Haven. There are no guards in sight, and after double-checking, she climbs on top of the first crate, then the second, then the third. Her ears pick the sound of marching boots approaching, snow being crunched under the heavy weight of the armour. Just as Lavellan reaches the top and begins pulling out her makeshift rope from her sack, the soldiers arrive from around the corner.

She freezes.

_Don't look up. Please, don't look up._

They come closer to the her location, torches held high, searching the shadows, the low archways and little places betweens the huts. Some murmur that the Chantry would have their hides if they don't find her tonight, others say perhaps she's already gotten out. They begin to spread to search the other areas, and her hope rises, but then one of the guards stops, noticing something on the snow-covered ground: her footprints.

The next second, he's lifting his eyes to look straight at her.

"There she is!"

She doesn't wait, doesn't waste a moment before vaulting over the barricade. Makeshift rope be damned. Strong pain pangs through her ankles as she drops down on the other side, but she ignores it and dashes for the frozen lake; she can't leave footprints behind again. What she wouldn't give now to have a staff in her hands. She can hear shouts of commands and the main gate groaning open, but never does she pause to look over her shoulder. If it weren't for her mountain boots, she would have slipped more than once on the icy surface of the river.

The way to the left leads to the Temple of Sacred Ashes – the gaping Breach above is indication enough. So she sprints down the right pathway to the pine forest, dodging the low branches, jumping over the rocks and sliding down the slope leading to the valley below. Her lungs burn and her legs protest,  _beg_  her to stop, but she doesn't heed their warnings. She has to get away, needs to create as much distance between herself and that gods forsaken village as possible. The shadows seem looming and forboding in this place.

Minutes later when she can no longer run and her breaths are no more than desperate raspy intakes, she stops, laying a palm over her chest to calm her heart.

"She can't have got out of the forest!" A shout, not too far behind.

Isena spins around, eyes finding the silhouette of the advancing guards. It'll be impossible to escape their line of vision if they turn in her direction, but she has to try.

When she's about to dash again, a strong hand wraps itself around her arm and drags her backwards into the darkness of a hidden cave, another one muffling her cries of protest. As she's about to elbow her captor and bite the hand over her mouth, they speak, in a voice she instantly recognises.

"Be quiet." A whisper, resonant in the hush.

The hand silencing her leaves, but the grip on her arm remains until the guard patrol is considerably away from the cave entrance. When they release her and take a step back, she turns to face none other than Solas. He's wearing a cloak and she might not have recognised him in the dark if the hood weren't down.

"What are you doing here?" Isena lowly asks, just in case someone is near.

For all the commotion that has taken place, Solas appears composed and utterly unphased.

"I was already out of Haven before you fled. Unfortunately, there was no eyewitness, so now they think  _I_  am responsible for your escape," he replies in that same calm tone which he used after they closed the first rift. As if  _nothing_  is out of place. There's not even a hint of accusation for the so-called blame that has been placed upon his shoulders. He's treating it as if it's a plain, simple fact.

Her eyes narrow. "That doesn't explain why you're  _here_."

"Despite what the Chantry claims, you are still our best chance of survival."

"You were there at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You saw how it backfired."

"This is not the place nor the time to argue over this matter." He takes the staff resting next to the cave wall and secures it to his back. "We should proceed to a safer location."

And with that, he turns away from her and strides deeper into the cave, expecting her to follow. She really doesn't want to. He is a familiar face, but he's presence here is rather convenient, and Lavellan doesn't know much about him aside from the few conversations they had en route to the Temple, one of which was an argument over the Dalish. Still, she can't go outside into the forest with the guards combing the land in search of her, and the cave has only one tunnel. Travelling alone is not an option.

With a resigned sigh, Isena walks forward.

She watches him as he approaches a metallic lamp attached to the stone wall and sets it alight with a careless wave of his hand. Blue flames spring to life, casting away some shadows, making the others more pronounced. Its hazy ethreal blaze murmurs a most captivating song from the Fade, and before she can mask her fascination, Solas takes notice.

"Veilfire," he answers her unspoken inquiry, lighting a torch with the magical flame and then continuing ahead.

She wants to question him about its properties, but there are more important matters to be discussed at the moment.

"How did you know you could intercept me on that road?"

"I was  _hoping_  you would pass by and save me the trouble of tracking you down."

The tunnel opens into a natural chamber, its ceiling so high Lavellan has to bend her neck backwards to see its outline, barely visible in the veilfire. The stone is covered by a thick layer of ice, lazily reflecting the cool light of the flame, and for a split second, she thinks the rocks are encased in diamond. It reminds her of the Temple of Sacred Ashes in a way, when it was yet standing, a sight to behold. It is breathtaking, and eerie at the same time. Perhaps it's the silence, only broken by their footfall.

"What is this place?" She doesn't try to conceal the awe in her voice.

"An underground passage to the west of Haven. Sights like this are common in the Frostback Mountains. Although, not many are aware of their existence," he patiently explains. "Most importantly for us, it is a shortcut. It'll save us the trip through the perilous track in the valley. The soldiers will not have the same luxury."

The chamber narrows into a corridor again. Isena could detect a barely audible hum, coming from behind the walls, and the ground below. There must be lyrium veins here, just like in the Temple.

"We have until dawn before the news of your escape reaches the south, then we'll be hunted down," Solas begins. "I suggest we use that narrow window to resupply. Bandits you might manage to defeat unarmed, but you will not survive against demons without a staff."

"I doubt they sell staves to just anyone in a shop."

"They don't. But it won't be long before we're attacked by a group of renegade apostates."

For a simple hedge mage, he certainly thinks like a tactician. Though, judging by all she's seen of him thus far, he is anything but simple.

"You've thought this through, haven't you."

It isn't a question, but he answers none the less.

"I haven't lived this long alone by braving the unknown without careful consideration." He intones, "unlike some."

She wants to retort that she put a day of consideration into her escape plan from Haven, but he is right: she had no idea what to do afterwards.

Isena keeps her mouth shut.

The numbing touch of the icy draft on her skin becomes more palpable with every step they take forward, and if the howling sound of wind echoing in the tunnel is any indication, the exit must be near.

"How did you escape?" Solas asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Through the chimney."

His gaze shifts to her for the first time since their exchange at the cave entrance, and she can't tell if he's amazed or just amused. Her ankle still hurts, and she tries her best not to wince when they have to drop down from a ledge to a lower walkway.

"Did you manage to pack anything useful on your way out?" Ever the pragmatic.

"All I have with me is a loaf of bread and a blanket. My room was mostly bare." And then, adding in an afterthought: "There was a book I could use to deck an unsuspecting guard with, but it was too heavy to carry."

Now he's certainly amused, the corner of his lips turning upwards in a half-smile for a few seconds before his face resumes its usual neutral expression.

The exit comes into view – a small opening leading to a snow-clad plain stretching for as far as eye can see, the powerful gusts of winds passing over it heralding the beginning of a blizzard.

As they reach the cave mouth, Solas pauses to regard the scenery, watchful and solemn. Wordlessly, he reaches into his backpack to take out a woolen shawl, then offers the garment to her. She murmurs her thanks, receiving a slight nod in reply, before he pulls up the hood of his cloak over his head and walks ahead, leaving her by the tunnel entrance. An unnatural roar from the sky reverberates through the mountains – the telltale sign that Breach is expanding again. Briefly, she looks at the yawning hole in the heavens above – an hourglass filled not with sand, but their lives. The realisation makes the burden of the Mark even more difficult to carry.

Wrapping the shawl around her shoulders, Isena follows the lone figure ahead, eyes hard and steps resolute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I experienced a writer's block on my other story in the form of a persistent plot bunny that wouldn't let me be until I wrote it down. So here, you have this. Not to worry. I'm back at continuing the other fic. :)
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Catlantean for her valuable insight.


	2. In Ruins

Solas, she noticed, is fond of explaining, of sharing wisdom and intellectual debates. As long as the subject matter is not the Dalish, they could have long conversations.

He was right about the Chantry hunting them down; by noon, there were wanted posters of them both everywhere in the surrounding area, the bounty more than enticing. From now on, they have to avoid settlements, at least during daylight. It almost feels like before – before the mage rebellion – except that now, they had to worry about normal people and not the Templars.

Isena shifts her attention back to the map of Ferelden laid before her. The wandering dwarf from whom they purchased this and their other equipment seemed to care little about the matters of human politic. As long as they were customers, he was happy to trade, fugitive or not.

It sounds like the blizzard has slowed a bit. It is difficult to tell from her position in their... shelter. Solas was the one to insist they camp for the night in the upper levels of this ruin. She had objected at first, but then he said that it was one place where the guards would not come looking. He was correct. Who in their right mind would decide sleeping in a tomb is a good idea?

‘ _Apparently, Solas,'_ she thinks, gazing up at the elf patiently spinning the venison cooking upon the fire.

“Reduce the heat and place a shield over it, preferably one conjured with earthly undertones,” she recommends. “The meat will become more tender, and the flavour will be reserved.”

His voice doesn’t lose its calm and serious quality even as he asks, “Is this a new Dalish school of magic? Ethereal gastronomy?”

Oh, he’s starting it again. She’s not going to take the bait.

She gives a nonchalant shrug and resumes her observation of the map. “Suit yourself.”

From the corner of her eye, she can see that he is still cooking the food the normal way. Some minutes later, when he is certain the fire is gentle enough not to burn the meat, he grabs his staff and stands up.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Why do you think we camped at this particular ruin?” is all he offers in response, walking toward the stairway leading down.

Isena folds the map and puts it inside her satchel before going after him. He doesn’t tell her to stay back, probably knowing it is futile.

At first, it looks nothing out of the ordinary, with the typical debris fallen here and there, cracked steps, and cobwebs in the corners. It is when they go two floors below that it becomes apparent – decorative runes on the walls, figures carved into the stones, vases made of fine metal, embellished with gems. Very ancient, and most definitely elven.

When they come out of a passage and into a hall, she stops, momentarily struck by the sight before her. The colourful glass murals encompassing the area look brilliant even in this dim light, and she walks to the closest wall to lay a palm upon it, in reverence, numb from the discovery. Her reflection looks back at her, almost hidden by the floral design of the painting, but she can still spot it – the black ink of her June’s vallaslin. If only her clan could see this place…

“I need your help for opening this gate.” Solas’ voice brings her out of reverie.

She turns to see him standing at the end of the hall, next to a large double door, and she takes a deep breath before approaching him, overcoming her awe as best she can, keeping the questions forming in her mind at bay; she doesn’t want to seem like a child, ignorant. Not to him of all people.

“I wondered why you didn't complain when I tagged along,” she remarks upon reaching him, noticing now that the gate is made of a very dark wood, and not metal.

He ignores her comment, pressing a part of the wall with the tip of his staff, and a multitude of runes etched into the surface begin glowing at the touch of his mana.

“Place your hand on the door,” he instructs.

She does as he asked.

“Your other hand.”

She glances at him, uncertain, then lays her left palm on the wood. The Mark comes to life, the strange sensation of unfamiliar magic coursing through her arm. It is tapping into a pool of energy – powerful, but not her own. Something that feels very much immortal, and not of this world. Not of the Fade she knows, either.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the gate groans open, revealing a wide stairway that seems to go down forever.

Solas is the first to continue forward, staff drawn. “Be on your guard. It won't be long before we face opposition.”

Her steps falter.

“I've been having trouble casting ever since the Conclave. If we run into another Pride-”

“You need to fight clever against stronger demons." He is unperturbed despite the gravity of the situation. "Prides, for instance, do not care much about who gets caught in their attacks as long as they hit their mark. Lure lesser demons into their path and they will soon turn against each other."

“And if there are two Prides and nothing else?”

“You can outrun them. They are not known for their speed.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “And if it's a dead-end with nowhere to hide?”

He halts to face her, and for a moment she thinks he is going to give a wry reply of his own, but instead, he placidly inquires, “What would you do?”

It reminds her of a _haren_ testing his pupil. Or perhaps he is just making sure protecting her is worth the risk. He seems to be intolerant of stupidity, people fumbling about their lives without any grasp of reality. And Dalish. Well, she can’t do anything about the latter. Might as well show her intellect, because having him as an ally is better than the alternative.

She answers without humour, “I suppose dying isn't an option.”

“It is not.” He regards her, expectant.

“Can the Mark open rifts?”

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips. Barely there, but a clear sign of satisfaction.

“It can.” He resumes his descend. “And demons will not be the cause of our worry here.”

It takes a few seconds for the full meaning of his words to dawn on her.

Then what is?

“Solas!” Isena goes after him. What is he not telling her? “I know you enjoy being enigmatic, but please refrain from-”

He lifts his hand – an indication for her to be silent. His posture is rigid, alert. He is expecting trouble.

She makes sure her footfalls are quiet as she comes to stand beside him, staff at the ready. The hallway going downwards seems to be empty, but the air feels strange, dense with magic. Her gaze falls on the carvings on the walls, no longer the delicate art present on the upper level. Here, the lines are bold, harsh, irregular, almost deranged. And they seem to shimmer, as if they are silhouettes getting closer from far away, blurred by intense heat.

“Make haste!” Solas commands. His voice is resonant in the hush, demanding her immediate attention.

He continues down at a much faster pace, and she follows his lead, all too aware they are in a stairway with little room to manoeuvre. She can now hear it - whispers coming from the walls, getting louder by the moment. And she can see them, the shadows clamouring to get out.

There is a barrier ahead, but Solas brings it down, not losing a beat. That seems to enrage the creatures, their whispers turning into screams. It reminds her of a Terror’s, but this is different, haunted and hollow.

The corridor opens into a vast room, at the centre of it a pedestal, and while Isena cannot see what is hovering atop it, the powerful curses cast on the object are palpable even from here.

There’s a crack in the wall to the right, an skeletal hand reaching out.

“Solas!”

He is already marching ahead toward the pedestal, loudly enchanting a spell-

A hand reaches up from the floor and grabs her ankle in a deathly grip, yanking her down, and she would have fallen, if not for the staff in her hand, supporting her weight. Quickly, she sets the claw holding her on fire. The creature lets go, then emerges with renewed strength, sending dust and stone across the room as it tries to crawl out of the ground, and for the briefest of moments, she catches sight of its empty eye sockets and jawless mouth. Its visage is monstrous.

It lets out a cry, and the sound seems to rally the others. They try harder to pour out of the walls, determined to tear their preys into shreds. At first, she thinks it was because of her attack, but then she sees Solas, his hand fisting around the hovering object. Her appraisal is short-lived, as she has to dodge an attack aimed for her head; one has already entered into this world.

Isena takes a step back and hurls an icicle in its direction, stunning it just long enough for her to impale it with bladed end of her staff. Then before it can retaliate, she pulls out the weapon and swings it at the monster’s head, decapitating it. The body vanishes into black mist. Her relief lasts for all of two seconds as the creature reappears some metres away, uninjured and whole. It lets out an ear-piercing shriek before lunging at her.

A firebolt flies into it, forcing it backwards.

“Don’t just stand there! Run!” It is Solas, rushing toward her, a horde of monsters hot on his tail. She doesn’t have to be told twice. The next moment, she too is racing to the stairway, praying the path going upwards would be clear.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but now the corridor seems narrower. A dull groan, as if stone is being pushed upon stone, and the walls draw closer still. _Oh, no._ _T_ _his can’t be happening,_ she thinks, urging her feet to climb the steps three at a time. Her lungs burn, her muscles ache, but she urges them to move forward. The hallway is only a metre wide right now.

An enraged scream, its source close behind. Solas doesn’t even glance back as he casts a fireball. There’s another scream, this one of pain; he probably hit mark. A part of the wall to her right comes down as another monster tries to claw its way out. She jumps over it, not wasting moments on an endless battle. The gate is now visible, and the sight gives her hope, even if the corridor barely has space for one man. Solas is the first to reach the top, she a few seconds later. The double doors swing close behind her with a deafening bang.

And then, silence. As if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“What were they?” Isena asks in-between raspy breaths.

“Hallas were not the only things Ghilan'nain created.”

His answer stuns her, chilling her to the bone.

They cross the grand hall adorned with murals, but to her, the beauty is completely lost. A part of her wants to disbelieve his words. Disbelieving is much more comforting, a lot more like the love stories and fairy tales told back at the clan. Gentle, easier to digest. Better than the question repeating over and over again in her mind:

What kind of benevolent god would create such monsters?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it certainly was a while...
> 
> Many thanks to those who commented and kudos'd. :)


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